


eternal memories, momentary musings

by ninanna



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Gen, Guilt, Mild Hurt/Comfort, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninanna/pseuds/ninanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a time after a victory so miserable, haunted by ghosts of an unforgettable tragedy and wonders of nature newly discovered. About a time after-- after everything is said and done, after 'the end' has come, finding purpose and moving on.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>“It wasn’t your fault.”<br/> </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Eren smiled bitterly at that; if a friend had said, he would have snorted. Levi was a friend too, by now, Eren was sure they were; but he was also someone Eren yearned to be a little more than a friend, and also someone Eren respected and looked up to. So he smiled, instead of an arrogant half-laugh, yet it seemed his captain saw the sardonic sentiment behind.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>“No… I know you know that. But knowing is different than believing. You need to remind yourself until you believe it. So I’m telling you. It wasn’t your fault, Eren.”</em>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	eternal memories, momentary musings

 

The wind that arrives at night is gentle and damp; it smells of rain and sea and Eren thinks, it is a testament to their freedom.

 

He closes his eyes and lets the loving, invisible blows embrace him, leave their almost-there kisses and scent on him. It is something he could not even imagine a decade ago, though he would have loved to. In moments like this, when he can quietly enjoy the world as it is, the world unconfined, the world in its majestic beauty and subtle miracles, a tender nostalgia swells within him. He cannot help but remember the losses and the heartaches and the days and weeks and months of despair upon despair. The grief they all bear, the grief that never ends for them, however, does not manifest itself as a crumbling burden as it does most of the time. No, in moments like this, grief is tinged with the satisfaction of a good ending, the knowledge that sacrifices were not for nothing, the confirmation that they made it—the confirmation that he made it.

 

This kind of sadness, he can deal with—he wishes the ghosts that haunted him always sneaked in this manner. Though, he knows it is too much to ask for; his hands are too bloody, all their hands are too bloody to allow that. Armin gets angry whenever Eren says it aloud; he insists that it is natural to be affected but certainly flawed to think of it like a punishment well deserved. Eren would love to believe that, he knows he should and that is what is correct and rational. But he cannot bring himself to. However unreasonable, he has accepted that the constant suffering in the recesses of his soul is his price to pay for all he did, for all that was done, for all who are now gone.

 

Only once he told this to Levi. It was when they were passing through those mighty mountains, months before they reached the sea, in the mercurial time right between winter and spring—not either properly, something undefined and unpredictable in between and they were almost freezing one night, huddled near fire. Everyone was already asleep but the two of them. He was rambling, partially because he was high from lack of sleep—the captain is never so. He listened carefully, silently and only when Eren finished he commented:

 

“That’s stupid.”

 

Always to the point. Never eloquent. It did not make Eren mad at the time, nor does it now, reminiscing. He very rarely gets angry at the clumsy wording or crude jokes of his captain anyway, for the old man generally means well but is as talentless with words as Eren is. What Levi said afterwards though, just as it did that time, rattles something within him.

 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Eren smiled bitterly at that; if a friend had said, he would have snorted. Levi was a friend too, by now, Eren was sure they were; but he was also someone Eren yearned to be a little more than a friend, and also someone Eren respected and looked up to. So he smiled, instead of an arrogant half-laugh, yet it seemed his captain saw the sardonic sentiment behind.

 

“No… I know you know that. But knowing is different than believing. You need to remind yourself until you believe it. So I’m telling you. It wasn’t your fault, Eren.”

 

A shudder rippled through his being and perhaps Levi saw it too, because he put his palm on Eren’s back and rubbed it up and down, in a manner that tried to be gentle but failed to be so miserably. Levi had the tendency of misjudging his strength; this only made those times when he managed a tender touch to be incredibly special. Regardless of its roughness, it healed Eren a bit then. Not fully; no, he is aware that these are wounds that will never turn into painless scars. They will bleed, forever; sometimes deeper, sometimes shallower, but they shall remain open. But they ached less then, when Levi said that, they definitely ached less. It happens sometimes. For instance, when Levi smiles, it happens. Perhaps it’s his endurance that is strengthened.

 

“It wasn’t my fault…” Eren murmurs to the wind and hopes that the words are carried to the endless sea and crushed by the sheer power of waves. Waves, Eren loves—he loves watching them. Their anger calms the anguished and rebellious humming of his own existence. Perhaps he should go down by the beach and watch the sea, watch the endless fury of waves crashing onto the sand, onto the earth, again and again… but their current camp is rather far for a short night walk. As much as everyone acts as though everything is now ‘good’, he knows officially he is persona non grata. If others thought he ran away it would be a mess for his captain. Not that Levi would believe he left—he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, he knows Levi knows this just as Armin and Mikasa does… Dread shows its claws and scratches the walls of his stomach, the invigorating breeze is still gently playing with his hair though. So he takes the advice and reminds himself, eager to dispel the demons of his fate. “It wasn’t my fault.”

 

“What are you whispering about?”

 

He freezes but not because he is scared; it is simply awkward being caught like this.

 

“Captain…” He mumbles as he turns and finds Levi standing behind him. Moonlight showers his face, making it paler than usual, making his eyes paler than usual, his hair in contrast is darker than the night sky and the cursed cells Eren had been imprisoned for many nights. It is a striking contrast that fits Levi so well; if Eren was to describe Levi in one word, he would use “contrast”.

 

Or perhaps “might”. Or perhaps “courage”. Or perhaps “duty”. Or perhaps “noble”. Or perhaps “sensitive”. Or perhaps “honest”. Or perhaps “beautiful”. Or rather, he has too many words to describe this man with, not a single one is enough. He does not like the idea of summing up all the breathtaking contrasts Levi packs in such compact form and modest expressions into a single word. As words fly by his mind, he muses to himself that Levi would probably skewer him, if he heard any of them.

 

“We’re not delaying our departure even if you get sick and vomit your guts out.”

 

Eren blushes. “I don’t think I will… the weather is not that bad. It’s a gentle wind.”

 

Levi huffs as he moves forward so that he is standing beside Eren, looking down the valley. Blackness churns and simmers in the distance—the sea has turned into a gloomy oblivion under the lack of light.

 

“I don’t know what’s it with you brats and the sea… but we can’t stay here forever.”

 

Eren smiles. He appreciates the nickname; it points to an acceptance and fondness that Levi keeps otherwise well-hidden. Some years ago, it would bother him sometimes, because he wanted to be an equal to this man he admired in so many ways. It took him some time, but as he matured, he realised, from the beginning, despite Eren’s massive naïveté and tendency to cause trouble, Levi had always viewed him as an equal. Levi treats everyone as an equal though; thus, he cannot allow himself to suspect any implications. He cannot allow himself to think it makes him special.

 

“It is beautiful… I thought you liked it too, Sir?”

 

“It is beautiful…” Levi admits, his voice soft and thoughtful, his eyes are looking at the veiled horizon—in moments like this, Eren is painfully curious about what goes through Levi’s mind. If only any of his bizarre talents included reading human minds.

 

“But it is frightening too…” Levi adds then, almost minutes later and it takes a few seconds for Eren to understand the context. He is surprised. He chuckles.

 

“I never thought there was anything that could frighten you…” The word ‘sir’ hangs in the back of his mouth; he is inclined to pronounce it out of habit and rank, but he knows Levi wouldn’t care either way and he simply wishes to not say it now. It happens sometimes. Often when they are alone like this. Eren likes to imagine these moments in different ways, later on, in other sleepless nights; they are the food of his spirit. So sometimes, like now, he will ‘forget’ to utter the formalities that signify the distance between them.

 

Levi turns his face and regards him with a curious bemusement. Eren is taken; this is an expression he has not seen on Levi’s face before. He also realises that they are standing rather close. If he slightly angled his body and leaned down, their faces could touch. The idea tickles his insides. The giddy feeling does not last long though because Levi starts frowning. Eren is anxious; could he have made a mistake?

 

“Eren,” Levi starts and Eren realises how Levi’s hands are idly fidgeting on his sides, “there are things I’m scared of too. Everyone does.”

 

He should have known or rather he has known; obviously, even the Humanity’s Strongest, even his stoic but subtly passionate and caring captain has fears. What he suggested was rude; all kinds of ugly interpretations of his words come to his mind, of all people, he should not have made such an insensitive comment. As if Levi isn’t a human—not that he meant it as such. He could never. He feels useless and stupid. He hates feeling useless and stupid; he hates it so vehemently and it sucks the life out of him. As Levi moves his gaze back to the barely visible scenery, Eren tries to come up with an explanation. He cannot though. He cannot find the right vocabulary and he is concerned he will only make it worse.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says at the end, his hands curled into tense fists near his sides, “I didn’t mean to…”

 

“It’s okay.” Levi shrugs. But it is not… Eren knows it is not but as he stares at Levi’s form, half alight and half in dark—always so full of contrast, another question starts squirming in his mind. It consumes him. The curiosity. The need to know. Perhaps Levi is right to call him a “brat” still.

 

“What are you afraid of?”

 

Levi does not shift his gaze but he smiles. It is a sad, tiny curl on one side of his lips. It is beautiful, Eren thinks, but also sorrowful.

 

“Some things…” Levi drawls in a tired voice, his tiny smile gets deeper as his brows furrow momentarily, “Loss… for example, I’m afraid of loss, too.”

 

He does not have to ask why Levi added “too”. Loss is inevitable; he has learnt. It does not always come in the form of being chewed to death between the teeth of a gigantic monster either. There are more mundane ways it is delivered. There are more insidious ways it comes; Eren has learnt. They are on a journey out of nowhere, towards nowhere, mostly because of him—because of his existence. Loss—loss to come and loss that came, as he remembers, the guilt crawls back in.

 

Levi moves closer without parting his gaze from the mesmerising darkness before them. Wind caresses and dishevels his inky locks slightly; Eren only recognises because he is staring at Levi so closely, dearly, and because his hair falls over his ashen, tired, still smiling face. Levi shifts his weight and his shoulder touches Eren’s arm.

 

Eren looks at him but he does not look back, which makes Eren think, he should not either. He turns his body back slightly, ensuring to keep the barely there contact of their bodies. The warmth permeates throughout his being from where Levi is touching him, even though he knows his captain has always had low body temperature.

 

Minutes later, Levi reminds in a whisper; “It wasn’t your fault.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
